


Must Be Love (On the Brain)

by caramelle



Series: Love in the First Degree [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Professor Bellamy, SOMEONE had to be the Annoying Nuisance and it had to be him okAY, Student Clarke, apologies to any finn fans out there lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 22:53:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: Is she grateful for the distraction that is Finn Collins? Sort of.Does that make her want to punch his teeth in anyless?Hardno.Or, the one where Clarke Griffin wishes the annoying boy who always sits next to her in class would shut up and let her listen to her professor. Her professor also happens to be really pretty.The two things are mutually exclusive.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twilightstargazer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/gifts).



> i was sent [THIS POST](http://lizthefangirl.tumblr.com/post/158853296029/girlwholovesdragons-itssexualhour-when-i-was) by a CERTAIN SOMEONE and Very Unceremoniously ordered to 'Blarke It', so you can all ~~blame~~ thank her for this
> 
>  
> 
> (title from the Rihanna song, in honour of the EXCELLENT cover by Little Mix)
> 
>  
> 
> **UPDATE: a graphic for this fic can be found [here!](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com/post/159269248026)

 

 

 

 

 

In all honesty, Clarke is well aware that her current predicament is entirely her own fault.

 

After all, she's the one who decided to leave off fulfilling the last of her general electives till the very last semester of her very last year in college.

 

She's also the one who decided to road trip it to Miami with a carful of her friends a week before courses opened up for scheduling. By the time she'd returned, she'd had all of eighteen hours left to snatch whatever she could off the bloodied, ravaged battleground of the online student portal, and shove into her blank timetable.

 

So, yes, she is very much _aware_ that she's got nobody to blame but herself.

 

All the same, she would very much _like_ to be able to have someone else to blame for it. Because, well. Who the hell _wouldn't._

 

In that sense, she's sort of grateful for Finn Collins.

 

Finn Collins is an annoying distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. Finn Collins makes the freezing lecture hall that she's forced to spend every Tuesday and Thursday morning cooped up almost bearable — by stoking the dormant fires of her own irritation. Finn Collins' presence and persistent company makes listening to stuff about ancient civilisations that she doesn't actually care about the _most_ _attractive option_ by far.

 

In short, Finn Collins gives her something towards which she's able to redirect all her quiet resentment regarding ancient civilisations and the mountain of useless information about them she's being forced to imbibe every Tuesday and Thursday, information that she'll never even be able to use in life once she's out of this lecture hall.

 

So, yes. _Is_ she grateful for Finn Collins? Sort of.

 

Does that make her want to punch his teeth in any _less_?

 

 _Hard_ no.

 

 _Especially_ around the three-week mark, when she starts making a habit of bringing coffee to class with her.

 

Coffee makes her awake. Coffee makes her alert. Coffee makes her _notice_ shit.

 

Like her very attractive, _very_ good looking ancient civilisations professor.

 

(Technically, the professor is supposed to be _the_ thing everyone notices in a class. It's kind of how education works.)

 

But, _seriously._  

 

Professor Blake has one of those faces that looks like it might have been carved from _marble_ — probably by one of those sculptors from the Renaissance eras he loves talking about so much. He also seems to have perfected the artfully messy look, the mass of dark curls on his head somehow always managing to toe that fine balance between runway-ready bedhead and Jesus-Christ-do-you-own-a-comb.

 

He always has a jacket with him, but she's never actually seen him _wear_ it. It's always draped over the chair behind his desk, while he lectures from the other side of it, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up over his defined forearms. He has this thing with his _hands,_ too — gesturing emphatically as he speaks, pointing and waving at maps and graphs projected onto the screen, raking them through his tousled hair, pushing carelessly at the bridge of his glasses when it slips down his nose.

 

Oh, yeah. Did she mention? He wears _glasses._

 

It's the exact style of glasses one imagines when being told to picture a hot guy wearing glasses, too— the bold black hipster frames, except with actual prescription _lenses,_ instead of plain clear plastic.

 

Don't even get her started on his _voice._

 

Look, the thing is, she has absolutely nothing against ancient civilisations. _Really._ It's not even that she thinks they don't make for interesting subject matter or anything.

 

If she's being _completely_ honest? She just doesn't have _time_ for that. There's way too much shit happening in the world right _now_ to spend valuable time and energy thinking about stuff that's happened thousands and thousands of years ago.

 

But when _Professor Blake_ starts talking about ancient civilisations… _God._ It's the only thing she wants to think about for the rest of the day.

 

Hell, it's the only thing she wants to think about for the rest of the _week._ Honest to God, if a mug of steaming hot chocolate splashed with spiced rum could speak, it would sound _exactly_ like Professor Bellamy Blake.

 

Most of the time, she gets so lost in the low, gravelly tones of his voice that she ends up completely missing the actual _words_ he's speaking. (Which is usually when Finn Collins will butt into her fantasies, eagerly offering her his own — frankly speaking — rather incomprehensive notes.)

 

Which is why she starts coming up to Professor Blake's desk at the end of every lecture, with an extra question or two about the readings or assignments for the week. Hey, she's still got a 4.0 GPA, after all. Just because she's not _interested_ in the subject doesn't mean she's not gonna get her fucking A.

 

It's most definitely _not_ just so she can spend an extra fifteen to twenty minutes watching Professor Blake lean against the edge of his desk, fold his arms across his broad torso, scrunch his chiselled features endearingly as he laughs at some abysmal pun she's just managed to come up with in the spur of the moment.

 

He's always so _interested,_ too. Not just in the way other professors talk to their students about their work. She gets the distinct impression that he's not just interested in the subject material itself — he's genuinely invested in _her_ relationship with the ancient civilisations of it all.

 

Plus, he's _hilarious._ Not in the childlike, entertaining way Jasper is, or the slightly cutting way Monty can be. He's actually _funny,_ all dry wit and sarcastic quips.

 

It's not exactly _news,_ seeing as everyone in class listens to him talk for ninety minutes at a stretch, twice a week.

 

But it strikes her so much harder when it's just the two of them, with the seats cleared of students and the lecturer's microphone turned off, because it's indisputable, incontestable evidence that, _fuck,_ that dry humour's definitely not just part of a lecture script he's written and rehearsed beforehand, that's all _him._

 

She almost wishes it _were_ a script. Just so she can feel like she _deserves_ to laugh.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere around the seven-week mark, she slips up and calls him _'Bellamy'._

 

It's _completely_ by accident, too. She skips down the steps to return him a book he'd loaned her a couple weeks ago, and they end up spending a full forty minutes hovering by his desk just talking about it. She gets so absorbed in the conversation, she doesn't even notice that she's moved over to prop her own hip against the edge of his desk, so they can both see the map on the page he's got the book open to.  

 

Finally, her phone buzzes with an incoming text alert (Jasper, informing her that _'IM HUNGRY WRU'_ ). They each start in surprise, having both completely lost track of time.

 

"Sorry," Professor Blake laughs, running a hand through his glorious curls. "Didn't mean to keep you so long."

 

"No, no, it's fine," she says quickly, hastily stifling the second round of vibrations from her phone (it's Monty this time — _'Jasper's hungry, wru???'_ ). "Sorry, didn't mean to take up so much of your time either."

 

He shrugs, spreading his hands at the empty lecture hall. "Yeah, Clarke. Can't believe you've kept the long line of ancient civilisations geeks behind you waiting _this_ long. Rude."

 

She's already snorting before she can help it, grabbing her bag off his desk ( _when_ did she put that there?!). "I'll send out a formal apology. What was the mailing list address again? A-C-geeks-anonymous-at-Ark-U-dot-edu?"

 

Professor Blake grins, the fluorescent ceiling lights glinting off his glasses. "Actually, we're abbreviating," he says dryly. "A-C-G-A."

 

"Got it," she says, smiling despite herself as she turns to leave. "Thanks, Bellamy!"

 

 _Fuck,_ she instantly realises, even as her legs automatically start moving, carrying her towards the door. _Fuck, fuck, FUCK._

 

Where the _fuck_ did that come from?!

 

"Clarke!"

 

She freezes dead in her tracks, letting her eyes slide shut, accepting the reality of her mortification for the briefest of moments before turning around slowly.

 

Professor Blake's striding up to her, and, oh, God, here it is, he's going to remind her that he's still her teacher and she's still his student and she shouldn't be calling him by his first name because it's not like they're _friends_ or anything and to remember that—

 

"Here," he says, holding out another book to her. It's a worn paperback, in good condition but clearly well-used. "Got a feeling you'll like this one, too."

 

She only pretends to look at the title, just so she has an excuse to duck her head and hope he doesn't notice the warm flush blooming across her cheeks.

 

"Oh," she says, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "Uh, yeah. Thanks."

 

In the beat that immediately follows, she thinks fervently about adding a _'Professor'_ after that — just to correct her previous mistake — but it's too late. She's _taken_ too long.

 

She fidgets awkwardly in the ensuing silence. She can't add it in now. It's too _weird._

 

"Don't worry about it."

 

Her gaze snaps up.

 

He's… _smiling._

 

It's not the plastic, too-wide smile people tend to pull up whenever they're trying to smooth over an awkward social faux pas, either. He's really _smiling,_ all warm and relaxed and _completely_ adorable.

 

 

 

"You okay?" Monty asks when she arrives at the lunch table five minutes later. "You look a little… warm."

 

"A.C. fucked up in your class, too?" Jasper asks, sounding about as sympathetic as anyone can sound through a mouthful of soggy French fries.

 

"Yeah," she says, collapsing into a chair. "Yeah, that's it."

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's about nine weeks into the semester when he first asks her about her plans after graduation.

 

"Honestly?" she says, kicking her heels lightly into his desk as she's perched atop it. "The first thing I _really_ wanna do is just... get out of town."

 

She's a little high on coffee and his company, so she's not watching his face all that carefully — but she could _swear_ his expression shutters, ever so slightly.

 

"Really?" he says, pushing off from where he's got his hip propped against his desk, a couple of feet separating them safely. He hangs there for a bit, and then clears his throat before leaning back in again, his hip bumping against the desk. "And go where?"

 

It's easily the flattest tone of voice she's ever heard from him, in class or out of it. She's not so sure she likes it.

 

"I don't know," she says truthfully. "Maybe the Grand Canyon, or something."

 

He blinks, the motion comically ballooned behind his glasses. "The what?"

 

She shrugs. "Yeah. Or, I don't know. Go see Yellowstone, or something. My friend Harper _really_ wants to see Niagara Falls. I don't really care all that much either way, as long as it's something that's about as cheesy as you can get for a grad trip."

 

He straightens then, his mouth parted in surprise. "Oh. You mean... _temporarily_?"

 

She cocks a brow. "That's generally what 'grad trip' means, yes."

 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head so that his curls bounce on his head. "By 'get out of town', I thought you meant 'get out of town'. As in, _non_ -temporarily _._ "

 

" _Ah._ " She squints at him, brows drawing together in a teasing frown. "I'm sorry, did I just rain on your parade? Did I just get your hopes up by dangling the prospect of me getting out of your hair once and for all, right before _ripping_ it all out from under you?"

 

She doesn't quite manage to make it all the way to the end, her solemn facade cracking and giving way to giggles midway through the melodramatic escalation of her questioning.

 

His face turns soft then, all traces of jest dissolving from his expression. "Quite the opposite, actually."

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's eleven weeks into the semester when he brings Finn up for the first time.

 

Once the lecture is done, she walks up to his desk with a couple of questions about next week's final — questions that somehow turn into her pulling up a chair at the lecturer's desk to study for the paper while he taps away at his laptop, working on whatever it is professors work on when they're preparing to _give_ a paper.

 

"Stop that," he says idly, glancing over the screen of his laptop.

 

She flushes warmly, suddenly acutely aware of how _loudly_ she's been tapping her pen against her notebook. "Sorry," she says, lifting the pen self-consciously. "Probably should have warned you. I get antsy when it's quiet."

 

He glances at her, his eyes flicking back down to his screen before—

 

"Here," he says, turning his laptop towards her.

 

She blinks blankly, the familiar layout of the Spotify homepage staring right back at her. "You're on _Spotify_?"

 

"I'm not _that_ old, you know," he tells her as she reaches out for the touchpad, sounding affronted but also just amused enough that she doesn't feel bad.

 

She sniggers, clicking randomly on one of his recent playlists. "Sure, _Professor_."

 

(Yeah, she feels comfortable enough to make a joke about it, but only because she'd already looked him up online. He's not even thirty yet.)

 

He opens his mouth to respond, eyes sparkling, but the sudden buzz of her phone cuts him off. She reaches over automatically with her free hand, turning it face up so she can see the screen, all lit up with an incoming text alert.

 

"Ugh," she groans at the sight of Finn's name. She quickly realises half a beat later that she _probably_ shouldn't have reacted so blatantly to a fellow student in front of their _teacher,_ and instantly glances at him.

 

She can't tell if he disapproves or not. His face is shuttered again, in that way it sometimes gets. She still hasn't quite figured out what it means.

 

"Sorry," she tries tentatively, "was that rude?"

 

He blinks at her, before leaning back in his seat. It feels deliberate, somehow. Like he's actively trying to put as much distance between them as he can.

 

"No, it's fine," he says, his tone a little stilted. He pauses, looking oddly strained. "Was that Finn Collins? I didn't mean to _look_ or anything, just—"

 

"I'm the one who turned it over," she reminds him, shoving down the surge of something roiling within her at his sudden edginess. "Yeah, it's Finn. Asking if I want to meet up over the weekend, to 'study for the final together'." She even crooks her fingers in air quotes, rolling her eyes as she echoes the phrase.

 

He looks at her, brows furrowed. "You don't like him."

 

She huffs disbelievingly. "Does _anyone_?"

 

A small laugh escapes him then — his eyes wide, like it's catching even him off guard.

 

A pause hangs in the air, his laptop warm under her touch.

 

Suddenly, he nods. "Good," he says decidedly. He shrugs at the questioning look she throws his way. "He's just so… _preachy._ It's all over his essays."

 

She snorts, turning the computer back around to face him. "I like this playlist, let's stick with this one. By the way," she adds, with the most serious face she can muster, "I just snuck a peek at all the questions for the final."

 

He gives her a flat look, the corners of his mouth twitching. "No, you didn't."

 

She shrugs, pretending to turn back to her notebook. "Suit yourself."

 

She struggles to keep her head down as he clicks about on his laptop, minimising the Spotify window.

 

"Why," he groans theatrically, burying his face in his hands. "Why _this._ "

 

A full-blown grin breaks out on her face then, her body already shaking with silent laughter at the thought of the picture she's just set as his background — Snoop Dogg, decked out in complete rapper chic garb, flashing a very gold-flecked, very stoned grin at the camera, in the highest resolution she could find within the minute she had.

 

"Because he's a _goddamn American icon,_ that's why!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

**From: clarke.griffin@ark-u.edu**

**To: bellamy.blake@ark-u.edu**

 

 

> *1 screenshot attached*
> 
>  
> 
> Told you I peeked at the questions.

 

 

 

**From: bellamy.blake@ark-u.edu**

**To: clarke.griffin@ark-u.edu**  

 

 

> Congrats on your VERY ill-deserved A. Snoop Dogg would be proud.
> 
>  
> 
> (Seriously, though. Well done.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Honestly, if she weren't currently freezing her ass off at nine-fucking-thirty in the morning, she just might actually be able to tolerate Finn Collins.

 

But it appears that last-class-of-the-semester Finn Collins is somehow turning out to be even _more_ insufferable than rest-of-the-semester Finn Collins. That, coupled with the air-conditioning that's _clearly_ been preset to 'Arctic', is enough to make her want to flip a goddamn table right about now.

 

"That's way too simplistic," Finn grumbles, as Bellamy — _Professor_ _Blake_ , she reminds herself. _Professor Blake_ , for just a few minutes more — reviews the answer in detail, the question displayed up on the large screen behind him. "Whatever, it's misleading to begin with. He should be accepting _both_ answers for this question."

 

Clarke draws a tight breath through her nose, fingers clenching in irritation. Don't get her wrong. It would be annoying in any other situation, with any other professor.

 

This really just makes it about twelve times _more_ annoying.

 

"Mm," she manages to grit out, as curtly as she can with no actual _words._ She can do this. It's the last question. Just two minutes more, and the semester will be done for good. She'll be free of Finn for _life._

 

Finn sighs, pushing back from his desk. "Glad the year's done, at least," he says, leaning towards her in a way he probably thinks is subtle. "Hey, you wanna go grab a drink after this? Celebrate?"

 

She doesn't even bother looking at him. "It's ten A.M., Finn."

 

"Coffee, then," he says, leaning in a little more. "There's this great little café down by—"

 

"Already had some," she cuts off, tapping on the empty paper cup sitting on the corner of her own desk. _Please stop talking,_ she adds silently. _For your sake, more than mine._

 

"Okay, well, how about dinner tonight?" He cocks a brow, clearly feeling a lot more smug than he has any right to. "Don't tell me you're going to be busy again. It's not like you have any more classes to study for."

 

Bellamy's eye snags on her then. The slightest of frowns crosses his face, barely even visible from all the way across the lecture hall.

 

But he's already moving on, clicking off the projector to wrap up on the final review.

 

"Tell you what," she says before she can think too hard about it, exhilaration surging through her and making her heart thump just the slightest bit quicker in her chest. "I'll make you a deal."

 

From the way Finn lights up, he's _clearly_ interpreting this as flirtation on her end. "Go on."

 

God, she almost feels _bad_ for this.

 

"Okay, here it is," she says, keeping her voice as steady as she can. "You have to ask Professor Blake a question."

 

Finn's brows shoot up in surprise. "That's it?"

 

"And," she adds firmly, "he has to get the answer _wrong_."

 

There. Done deal. There's absolutely _no_ way Finn's going to stump Bellamy in a game of Ancient Civilisations Jeopardy.

 

None, zilch, nada.

 

She actually has to take a second to pat herself on the back. _Well done, Clarke. Brilliant, if you do say so yourself._

 

She breathes a sigh of triumphant relief when Finn turns to face the front… and then freezes up again when he raises his hand.

 

" _What,_ " she mouths silently.

 

Bellamy pauses mid-speech, one brow raised in their direction. "Yes, Finn?"

 

"I have a question," Finn announces.

 

The entire class turns to look at him. It's not often that someone decides to start participating at the literal very last minute of the course.

 

 _Great,_ Clarke snaps in her head, trying to shrink down in her seat. Hopefully, she doesn't look like she's a part of whatever Finn's trying to pull.

 

"Go on," Bellamy says.

 

She catches the distinct undertone of dryness in his invitation. It's a struggle to keep from smiling.

 

Finn jabs a thumb sideways in her direction, his mouth already stretching in an easy grin. "Will she go out with me tonight?"

 

"No."

 

She blinks, glancing up at Bellamy. He hadn't even taken a _second_ to think about it.

 

The class dissolves into muffled chuckles, everyone clearly writing it off as last-day-of-class shenanigans.

 

Finn settles back into his seat, looking far too satisfied with himself. "Thank you, Professor."

 

"You're welcome," Bellamy says nonchalantly, before turning back to the rest of the class. "Any other questions?"

 

Once they're officially dismissed, Finn turns to her.

 

"So," he says, packing away the one pen he'd had on his desk all throughout class before standing. "Where would you like to have dinner?"

 

She pauses deliberately, glancing up at him. "I said if you could get a _wrong_ answer, Finn."

 

She doesn't think she's ever seen anyone turn _that_ red _that_ fast.

 

 

 

A few other kids linger to take pictures with Bellamy, and thank him for a great semester. She's forced to dilly-dally a bit, pretending to take an extra few minutes to pack her stuff up, but honestly, she doesn't mind all that much.

 

She starts down the steps once the last of her classmates clears out, already smiling despite herself.

 

"Was that Finn Collins high-tailing it out of class ten minutes ago?" Bellamy asks as she saunters towards him. "Only asking because I couldn't quite see through the dust clouds he was kicking up."

 

" _So_ pleased with himself," she comments to no one, shaking her head as she reaches his desk.

 

"I'm an academic, Clarke," he says, turning to face her with a wide grin to mirror hers. "I pride myself on being right."

 

She rolls her eyes, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulders. "You don't even know if you _were_ right. Maybe I'd lost my mind in a brief bout of insanity, and actually said yes to having dinner with Finn."

 

"No, you didn't," he says decisively.

 

Her jaw drops in feigned shock, eyes still crinkled in amusement. "How would _you_ know?"

 

His gaze settles on hers. "Because you're having dinner with me."

 

Her jaw drops again. It's significantly less feigned than before.

 

She closes it quickly, her brain rebooting and taking off again at what feels like a hundred miles per hour, prompting her heart to pick up the pace as well.

 

"Oh," she manages after a long moment. She pauses, and tilts her head.

 

" _'Oh'_ ," Bellamy echoes slowly, his face scrunching with the smallest hint of trepidation. "Huh. Too forward?"

 

She shakes her head, warmth blooming in her chest. "No, I just—" She breaks off, casting another calculating look up at him. It's mostly to give herself a second to catch her breath. It's also slightly because she's _really_ enjoying the way he looks right now, eager and nervous at the same time.

 

Finally, she shrugs, brushing a stray lock of blonde out of her eyes. "I just figured that when you _did_ make a move, it was gonna be with a history pun." She grins, feeling bold enough to take a definitive step closer.

 

His own lips curve with a smile, leaning in as she takes another step closer. "Did you, now?"

 

She nods, taking one last step to close the distance between them, her chest mere inches from his. "A really, _really_ bad one."

 

"That can still be arranged," he says immediately.

 

" _And,_ it's ruined," she announces, stepping back to deliver a light smack to his shoulder.

 

He catches her hand before she can draw back properly, his larger fingers closing over hers warmly, bringing them up so his lips can brush across her knuckles.

 

"Don't worry," he says, his mouth curving with a smile. "I'll save it for dinner."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes i wish teacher!bellamy was real....... but none of his students would ever be able to pay attention so that's probably for The Best
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com)


End file.
